


Shared Scars

by AClusterOfFandoms



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Carlos in the Desert Otherworld, Carlos' history, Cecil is sad, Cutting, I'm so sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AClusterOfFandoms/pseuds/AClusterOfFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is missing Carlos and his tattoos aren't helping. Little does he know, Carlos isn't having the fun time everyone thinks he is. Mentions of self-harm and scars.<br/> WARNING: CUTTING DESCRIBED IN CHAPTER 2, MENTIONS OF BLOOD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cecil woke breathlessly, gasping, realising he must've been holding his breath. His eyes were wet, and he wiped away the tears. He couldn't remember the dream- the city council must not want him to- but he felt a tight knot in his stomach. Carlos. The room was chilly, and he shivered as he got out of bed to go to the bathroom. That was when he noticed his tattoos; they'd stopped moving. Normally when he was in a state like this they would be swimming across his body, swirling with the emotion he was filled with. Right now they'd taken up residence in the form of scar-like lines on his forearm. He stared, remembering the first time he'd seen Carlos' scars, how ashamed he sounded. Cecil would be honest, he didn't fully understand why the scientist had done it to himself, but he never pressed the issue. Occasionally, when Carlos was really comfortable and sleepy and held his arms above his head, the Voice would trace those lines with his fingers.   
He shivered again. It was still so dark out. The clock read 2:37. Cecil poured himself a brandy and sat with his knees up to his chest, staring at the perfect mirror image of his boyfriend's scars.

Some time passed, and his head lolled to the side tiredly. He considered getting into bed, but since there was no one else in there he simply allowed himself to slide over onto his side and close his eyes. 

When Cecil woke it was almost midday and he had a blanket over him.  
"Thank you." He said aloud to the Faceless Old Woman, before stretching out and finally standing. The lines were still on his arm, still a reminder. He would call tonight; he could make it to tonight.  
He put on his usual work shirt, neglected to roll up his sleeves and made his way to face the wrath of Station Management.

_____________________  
"Good night, Night Vale. Good night." The Voice signed off, dropping his head into his arms.   
"Cecil?" A concerned voice asked behind him, the voice of a concerned scientist. HIS concerned scientist. He span around on the office chair.  
"Carlos! What a wonderful surprise, I just finished the show." He enthused, grinning widely. Carlos looked sadly at him.  
"Please don't pretend for me, Cecil. If you're unhappy you need to tell me, we can talk it out." There was a pause, so Carlos probed. "What is it?"   
"I miss you, Carlos. Every inch of me misses you." He admitted, standing so that he and the protection of his boyfriend would be at similar eye-levels.   
"I know, Ceec. I miss you too, and I'm working really hard to find a way for you to come visit me here, I-" Cecil tried to touch his arm to make him stopped, but it was a projection, so he opted instead for interrupting.  
"Look what he tattoos did." He pulled his sleeve up and the lines were there, still as ever. Carlos shivered, eyes becoming wet.  
"Oh, Cecil, I- I don't know what to say." They stood in silence for a considerable amount of time, just looking at each other. "I want so badly to touch you, Ceec. To hold you."  
"I do too."   
"I love you."  
"And I love you. Good night, Carlos. Good night." The second 'good night' was said simultaneously, and the scientist vanished. Cecil drove home and made pasta, but only ate a few mouthfuls before giving up and going to bed which, despite his face to face conversation with his love, felt as cold and lonely as the night before. 


	2. History and Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos thinks about how he got into this particular vice.  
> WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF CUTTING, MENTIONS OF BLOOD. Please don't read if this could trigger you. Stay safe readers.

Carlos stopped projecting himself into Night Vale and burst into sobs, collapsing to the floor. He gripped his forearm. Oh Cecil. If he knew Carlos had started again he would never come to visit; he would insist he come home immediately. But there was so much science here. And he was taking good care of himself, using antiseptic and bandaging the cuts. He rolled up he sleeve and unwound the bandage. The flesh was healing well, but he still hadn't cut where he wanted to. He never had. Right in the crease of his arm, his inner elbow. The veins visible there scared him. His intentions were never to commit suicide. Not even the first time. He thought back to it.

15-year-old Carlos stood in the shower and took a razor in his hand. It wasn't very sharp, and the first attempt didn't draw blood, nor the second. He gave a flurry of quick flicks and beads of red appeared on the paler side of his arm. A few shallow cuts. He didn't know why, in all honesty. He had heard about people self-harming, never understanding why they would do it until he did it himself. He only did this a few more times before kicking it for the first time.

His first relapse was 2 years later, and it began similarly. Shallow marks, just enough to bleed. This time it meant less. It had been a huge thing the first time. He'd sobbed about it later. He felt bad each time he did it. But not now. Now he felt fine. His arm itched and he had to be careful about wearing long sleeves, but emotionally he felt very little. Certainly not sadness. Just not much of anything. He couldn't let anyone find out though, or his mother would never let him go off to college. She worried so much as it was, and this would cripple her. No, so he'd stop before summer, before the sweaters and long sleeves became suspicious.

His second break up triggered the relapse in college. This was when he gained the scars he was currently sporting. He used a scalpel this time. It was deep and purposeful and he drew so much more blood than he was used to, and he wasn't in the shower and that shirt had to be thrown away. This one was the first to need a real bandage. This one scarred. He only did two more before he was found out. College made him go to counselling. He still cut a little for a while, but more like the first time, softly and with regret. His counsellor was good, but he never really let himself go, never truly took to counselling. But he recovered, and he hadn't cut for 12 years. Until last week.

He added a fourth line to his arm in close proximity to the others, dragging the scalpel across and sighing as blood seeped out. 'Man, this is fucked up,' he thought. He'd always thought that, really, but it meant more after all he'd seen in Night Vale. He sliced again for good measure before washing his arm and getting a clean bandage. Just a little while longer. He would find a way for Cecil be here. He had to.


End file.
